How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?

I have always wondered. Why did the theologians in the Middle Ages give a good-dad-burn about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin? Seems to me that angels have other things to keep them occupied. Like pulling folks out of barrels of hot oil before they become Sunday dinner.

I guess there wasn’t much in those days for theologians to do but sit around and scratch fleas and throw out questions. The one that came up with this doozy must have been drinking a little too much wine that day. When you have a Crusade to run or a Saint Joan to burn or a witch to torture or an Inquisition to conduct, just how do you get the time to ask dumbass questions? That is what I want to know.

Anyway back to the angels. They messed up. Had they done a proper job of things the Roman Empire would not have digressed into the dark ages. And they were really dark. Guess that is what happens when lead poisoning takes over the brain and a bunch of Huns run amuck, raping and plundering and looting, looting and plundering and raping. “Whoopee!” must have been the armor sticker most popular in those days.

Bet God had some angel butt for lunch. I can hear her now, “Can’t youse guys get anything right?” God uses youse because she is from Brooklyn. Has a little brownstone  over off Lafayette. But it’s a secret. So don’t tell anybody. “I told youse guys to take care of business. Now I am going to have to send in some wise guys. Man, can you believe it?”

In goes Richard the Lionhearted, dude from England, to clean up things. He ends up in a dungeon. Has to send his troubadour with his hand out for some ransom. Robin Hood, robbing from the rich and keeping for himself and his merry guys, comes up with enough cash and busts Mr. Fancy Pants Lionheart out of jail. When Little Richard gets home to England, he doesn’t find Long Tall Sally or Good Golly Miss Molly or Lucille. He finds his brother, John, redecorated his castle and installed himself as king. On top of that, John had gone and signed the Magna Carta. Boy, was Richard royally pissed. “You did WHAT? Don’t you know anything? Well, there goes the Plantagenet Plantation.”

What does all this have to do with angels dancing on the head of a pin? Who knows? No one had the time to figure that one out. They were too busy trying to keep from starving, fighting off the black death, and keeping themselves warm. You know, it is hard to keep warm when the fashion is to go without undies.

Guess that brings up a new question. How many angels can dance in a pair of undies?

Mr. Big and the Writer

The big Hollywood producer looks up from the papers on his desk and recognizes the writer across from him. From behind the producer’s desk, a large painting of Mr. Big smiles down on the two of them. Being new to the Hollywood scene, this is the writer’s first meeting with a Mr. Big. He sits stiff in the chair and hopes this will be his big break.

“Sam?” Mr. Big says. “I can call you Sam?” Without waiting for a response, the producer continues. “Just bought a Broadway hit. Think you can handle the adapt?”

Sam starts to say yes. Before he can, Mr. Big goes on, “A fellow named Shakespeare wrote it. Ever hear of him? Me neither. Well, we paid big bucks for the play. It’s called Macbeth and it’s got everything. We think it can be one of our blockbusters next summer.”

“No problem,” Sam says. “I can handle it.” He takes out his small notebook to take down his orders.

“Of course you can. That Pulitzer you won last year says it all. Anyway, Sammy Baby, we need some changes.”

“Changes?”

“The play starts off with three witches. Well, witches aren’t in this year. Wizards are. So three wizards it is.”

The writer writes down “three wizards” in his notebook.

“Macbeth, or Mac as he will be named in the movie,” Mr. Big’s voice rises as he becomes excited about the production. “He will be a second string quarterback. Played by Johnny Up-and-coming.”

A question appears on Sam’s face.

“You know the guy who was in that movie about tin cans.”

“Tin cans?”

“Yeah. The cans turn into big ass trucks. He’ll be perfect. And what’s more. We can get him for a song. Anyway he’s a second string quarterback.”

“So he kills the first string quarterback?”

“No, no, no.” Mr. Big shakes his head and frowns that the writer doesn’t get the direction he’s going. “Can’t have Pretty Boy killing nobody. He’s our hero.”

There’s confusion on the writer’s face.

“It’s his cheerleader girlfriend who does the murder. Mac would never do that. First String is his best friend. And, oh yeah,” Mr. Big’s voice goes into flight with excitement, “I forgot to tell you the really good part.”

Writer can’t believe his ears. All he can say, “The good part?”

“She’s a vampire. Call her Selene after the vamp in Underworld.”

“Vampire?” Sam asks, totally confused by now.

“Yeah, vampires are big these days. So she’s got to be a vampire. And remember those wizards. They’re zombies. Got to be zombies.”

“Zombies?”

“Yeah, Sammy Baby, add zombies and we have an extra hundred mil in profits. Zombies are really in, you know.”

Before the producer can continue, the writer stands up.

“I don’t think I am your man to do this project.”

“What?” Mr. Big rises out of his chair. “Listen, you don’t take this, you’ll not work in this town.”

“If this is Hollywood, I don’t think I want to work in this town. I’m goin back to Omaha.”

Shaking his head, Writer turns and walks out of the office. With his dignity.

It’s Oscar Night

Tonight Hollywood will walk down the Red Carpet and let us ooo-and-awe at the egos going past the cameras. Those egos will be following a tradition that goes back to the Way Back When. They’ll be walking in the footsteps of Bogie and Marilyn and Dietrich as they make their way to the seats reserved just for them. We’ll see women in dresses with most of the parts missing. And so stiff the women can hardly sit down in them.

We’ll see a lot of speeches which will go on way too long and say absolutely nothing. But maybe will get some speeches we really want to hear. And in case you’re wondering, here is a preview of some of the speeches we may hear.

Best Picture Producer: Thank God. Now I can make my money back. I will never hire that director again. Everything he touches turns into manure.

Best Director: How would you like to be stuck on an island for two months with the cast and crew I had to work with?

Best Actress: I knew I was mahvelous in this film. (Notice. They never call it a movie.) Of course, I am always mahvelous. Especially when I look mahvelous. Aand I did look mahvelous in this film..

Best Actor: Just a second. (He takes out a mirror and checks himself out. He spends a full minute admiring himself. Then he sighs.) I have to admit I am one handsome guy. No wonder I have so many female fans. If I wasn’t me, I would be after me.

Best Supporting Actress: How come I never get nominated for Best Actress? I do all the work. She gets all the credit. The Bitch.

Best Supporting Actor: Finally.

Best Screenplay: (Shaking his fist at a director.): I’m going to kill that s. o. b. of a director for taking my awesome screenplay and dragging it through the dirt.

Best Makeup: Do you know how hard it was to take the ugliest cast ever and make them even uglier?

Best Costume: Can you believe some of the dresses worn tonight? And they are all my creations.

Best Song:This makes up for not winning the Grammy.

Best Editing: Has anybody seen the missing eighteen minutes?

Best Documentary: Smile. You’re on Candid Camera.

Best Foreign Film: How do you say “You like me” in Japanese?

Best Special Effects: Isn’t it amazing that I could make that hamburger look like a real hamburger?

Near 500 words: Enough Is Never Enough

With Jesus, every day was a great day for the Disciples, and always filled with surprises. One day it was miracles, the next blesseds, healings on a third day. And no one could take on the establishment the way Jesus did.

Each day there was a story, and not just one story but story after story after story. The Disciples weren’t sure what a lot of them meant, but the they were excited to hang with Him 24/7.

Things Jesus did were so awesome that Judas wanted to make Him the main attraction of a new theme park. “When we go public, our IPO will be worth billions of denarii.”

Jesus shook his head and laughed. “You poor fellow.” Then He went on His way, the Disciples struggling to keep up.

And talk about cool. Casting out demons was really bad ass. Even the priests were afraid to take on the devil and his minions.

One day–it was a Wednesday I believe–Jesus was teaching away to what most of the Disciples thought of as a multitude. Actually it was five-thousand-and-seventeen men, women and children. We know the exact number because Judas Iscariot was selling tickets.

About three p.m. Jerusalem Standard Time, Jesus was right in the middle of the Lord’s Prayer. Peter sneaked up to Jesus’ ear and whispered, “The folks are famished.”

The Master whispered back at Peter, “Aren’t you listening?”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t I just say, ‘Give us this day our daily bread’?”

Peter was trembling in fear for what Jesus might do to him for being a bearer of bad news. Peter had seen the Lord in the Temple. Man, he’d never seen anyone throw a table the way the Master did. And He barely missed the High Priest. But Peter had gotten this far. He might as well go on. “We ran out of all the baked goods this morning. And all we’ve got is five loaves and two fishes.”

Now there wasn’t a Macdonald’s or a Chick-fil-A to cater the event. So it was going to be up to Jesus to do the catering. The Lord smiled and said, “All right. Bring them here.”

And right there Jesus took care of things. “Have the people form two lines.” And those were some awesome fish sandwiches. Everybody stuffed themselves.

Peter approached the Lord and said, “Where’s the mayonnaise?”

Jesus was the most patient of men. He’d put up with a lot from the Disciples and now this. Jesus gave Peter the kind of look you didn’t want to get from Jesus. “Get thee behind me, Satan,” He said.

As Peter stumbled away, Jesus said under His breath, “Next thing you know they’ll want Me to turn water into wine.”

And so they did.

Near 500 words: Joshua in Charge

Recently I read the Book of Joshua in the The Old Testament. It inspired this story.

After Moses died, Joshua was put in charge of the Israelites. He’d been around since Egypt and he’d never given Moses any lip. It was always “Yes, Sir” and “No, Sir” and “How high, Sir?” He was a Libra and he could charm the pants off the most rebellious Israelite. On top of that, he put on the best shows. His “Forty Years in the Wilderness Without Any Pants (‘Cause Guys Wear Dresses)” was a real hoot of a musical.

So God knew He had His guy when Moses suggested Joshua would be perfect for the job. Joshua wasn’t so sure.

“Why don’t you go with Caleb?” Joshua suggested.

“You know how he is. He’ll go off and shoot himself in the foot. No, you’re My guy.”

“I’ll give it a try but–”

“I have just the thing. Roll up your sleeve, Josh.”

“What for, Sir?

“I’m going to give you a shot of self confidence.”

“You know I don’t like needles.”

“There. Did that hurt?”

“A little bit.”

“Let me kiss it and it’ll be all better.”

“Well, okay. Do I get a lollypop?”

God kissed the boo-boo, then handed Joshua two lollypops.

“My favorites,” Joshua said. “Root beer and Wild Strawberry. Yummy.”

After a late night with the Almighty, Joshua went back to camp. He gathered everybody and said, “I have some good news, and I have some bad news.”

“What’s the good news?” Levi called out.

“The good news is we’re going to kick some Canaanite butt.”

“Aw right,” the crowd cheered.

Never one to take good news well, Judah shouted, “So what’s the bad news?”

“It’s not really bad,” Joshua holding back.

“C’mon,” Levi said. “We can take it. After all, what can be worse than the manna we’ve been eating for forty years. We’re ready for some of that milk and honey.”

“Yeah,” Reuben yelled. “Especially that honey part.”

“Okay, guys,” Joshua said. “You asked for it. We have to let our pee pees go.”

Boos went through the crowds. If this had been a movie, the soundtrack would have been playing Bob Dylan and “Everybody must get stoned.” Them Israelites had rocks in their hands and they were ready to rock ‘n’ roll.

“C’mon, fellas,” Joshua pleaded. “It’s for a good cause. After all, there are no free rides.”

“I knew there had to be a catch,” Judah said. “After all, it’s Friday the 13th. On top of that, it’s a full moon.”

“Yeah,” Reuben grimaced, “But circumcision. That’s gonna hurt.”

“So who’s going to do the deed?” Levi wanted to know. Not happy but still he was a Levite. And Levites were God’s Guys.

Joshua hesitated, then said really slow-like, “Brad.”

“Brad!” Judah, Levi and Reuben let out. “Not Brad.”

A roar went out from the crowd like an echo, “Not Brad.”

“He’s the only one with a knife,” Joshua said. “The rest of you have swords. And I gotta tell you, ain’t nobody going to take a sword to my…well, you know.”

“But Brad is blind as a bat,” Reuben said.

“And cross-eyed to boot,” Judah added.

“The Almighty’s got you covered on those two things,” Joshua said. “Brad’s got glasses now.”

“But what if he misses?” Reuben asked. “Even with glasses?”

“Let’s just say you’ll be eunuch,” Joshua said, then, “I’m going to need some of you guys to volunteer for trumpet lessons. We’re going to have a big performance at Jericho.”